Getting to the Other Side
by Onceforthefun
Summary: Pezberry AU. Three weeks before Rachel Berry is supposed to debut on Broadway, she loses her fiance in a tragic accident. Santana is the funeral director hired to handle the arrangements. Can Santana help piece Rachel's world back together after it seems like it's fallen apart?


**A/N: Just something I came up with in between writing my other fics. Let me know what you think. First dedicated Pezberry so be gentle. **

* * *

The door to Charon River opens, and Rachel Berry, a short, slim, attractive woman in her late 20s, with dark brown hair, and sad brown eyes, walks in through the door. It must be misting outside, because little drops of rain cling to her hair sparsely, and the pattern repeated all over her body. It would be easy to blame the moisture around her eyes on this, if those brown eyes weren't rimmed in red, and her cheeks weren't puffy. There's no one else in the sitting room to notice her entrance, when she enters, not even a receptionist.

Rachel sits down, nervously glancing around her. She doesn't want the room to touch her, and feels as if it's far too cheery of a place for the purpose that it serves. The room is set up like a living room: sofa, love seat, and two recliners, with a glass and metal coffee table as the focal piece, and even throw pillows as if this were merely someone's living room. There is a wide screen TV mounted on the wall, playing non-stop commercials for products that Rachel refuses to take in. There's a kids' play area off to the side, with brightly colored toys, even games. The colors for the room are pale green and blue, and though there are other colors thrown about, those two dominate the space. It could almost be the waiting room of a doctor's office instead, well instead…she doesn't want to think the words, much less the reason that she's here.

The outside door opens, and a woman with short, spiky dyed blonde hair, and light hazel eyes, offers her a cup of coffee and a caring smile. Rachel doesn't want to accept the coffee, but the smell alone has her reaching for the cup, and she drinks it, surprised because it's been prepared just right. "It's my specialty. You know how everyone has a niche? I'm the coffee whisperer." The woman speaks with the lightest of southern accents. "I haven't met a person yet, I couldn't guess their coffee order." She sounds proud about this. Rachel thinks it's a strange thing to be proud of.

The woman takes a seat in the arm chair, close enough to be involved, but far enough away that Rachel doesn't feel intruded upon. "Have you ever seen the Aurora Borealis? The Northern lights? Just imagine, the sun goes down, and you think that the light has disappeared from the day, but then voila, you look outside your window, or you step outside, and you see them; a little light for the darkness. Mostly they're green, but the color changes with the altitude, and it's like a giant light display played in concert across the sky, almost to tell us that just when we thought we had life summed up, there's still some mystery to it."

The woman gestures as she talks, causing Rachel to notice how beautiful her hands are. The light brown of her skin is flawlessly smooth and without a single blemish, and though her fingernails are without any color, it's easy to tell that she is nearly obsessive about the upkeep on her nails because they're each sporting a little half-moon point.

"When did you see them?" Rachel questions, curiously.

The woman smiles again. "I haven't," she says. "But it's on my list. Do you have a list?"

Rachel shakes her head because the only thing on her list was to star in a Broadway play and that would be ticked off very, very soon. Or it would have been. If…

"That's a shame," she says quickly. "Everybody should have a list. Mine has mostly consisted of places I wish to go, the Sea of Stars in Vaadhoo, the salt flat in Bolivia, Skaftafeli, Iceland, the Son Doong Cave in Vietnam," she lists. "I have a million places I want to visit, but there's one thing on it I want to _do_. I want to learn to ski. I don't care where. Other than that, everything else is a place I want to go."

"Have you been to anywhere?" Rachel doesn't intend for the question to come off as awkward as it does but the woman only offers a smile. "I've been to a lot of places, mostly here though. In the states. I grew up in the South, Tennessee more accurately, and I went to University of Alabama, Roll Tide, for college. I've always been a country girl, I guess, so I never stopped liking a good view. I've seen Cahokia Mounds, the Grand Canyon, the Colorado Plateau and Antelope Canyon, I've driven the coast from White Rock, BC, to San Ysidro. I haven't done much exploring outside of the country, though."

She continues to talk and Rachel offers the odd word or two in response. It took her awhile to realize that there was a method to her rambling, because up until she realized what she was doing, Rachel wasn't thinking about _that_. But then as soon as she realized that she was being distracted, it became the only thing that she could think about.

Rachel slowly twists the engagement ring on her finger. 6 years. That's not how long they had been dating, but how long they'd been engaged. First it was school keeping them from tying the knot. He was in a different state, they didn't see each other all that often, but they talked and their love connected them to each other because Rachel would rather slowly fade away than to lose him, and she was the bright spot in his week because his heart beat differently whenever she wasn't around.

She lost track of how many times he asked her to marry him after she told him that she would. After school (she went for two years before she left), she wanted to wait until she had her first role, then until she got her first major role, then until she got her first starring role. The last time he asked, the last time he would ever ask, she just wanted to get settled in the play.

Each time she gave off supplementary reason, but one of her biggest reasons for turning him down was that she feared getting pregnant. In a regular career, getting pregnant set a woman back. On Broadway, she might not ever get over it. Even though he promised that he'd become a stay at home husband, she still kept putting it off. He couldn't actually carry the baby for her, and as soon as she began to show she'd have to take a leave. For all of the assurances he gave, he couldn't promise her that it wouldn't happen, and despite that they had sex, and frequently, she was convinced that as soon as she said 'I do' the condom would somehow break, or her birth control would become defective.

She wonders, as people are prone to do after the death of someone that was intimately close to your heart, if she had said yes on one of those numerous occasions, if he'd still be here. If she had said 'yes' backstage when he had showed up with flowers on the day her very first show premiered and agreed with him that now was the perfect time for the two of them to get married. She'd probably have been pregnant within the year, but also probably wouldn't have gotten her role as Roxie in _Chicago_ either.

Or if, that one time when they were walking in the park closest to his job, when he had turned to her, eyes bright, a smile plastered on his face and unmasked hope as he exclaimed: "Let's do it now! It doesn't have to be a big ceremony, so it won't take long to plan, we can postpone the honeymoon, I don't care, I just want you, Rachel." She had protested, gently, like she always did, explaining how the timing wasn't good, but that they would be heading to the synagogue (for he had agreed to have a Jewish wedding) soon. She wonders, had she said yes, and if they had gotten pregnant, if the fact that she had just a little part of him to carry her into the future, if that would have somehow eased the pain of him not getting to be there for it.

The back door, the one leading to the offices, opens, and a woman in a soft gray business suit comes into the room. "Good Morning, Danita," she says automatically.

"Good Morning, Santana." Danita stands up, and gives Rachel's hand a gentle pat. "We'll work on your list later," she says as she does. She gets up and walks to sit back behind the reception desk.

Rachel looks at the new entrant in surprise because surely she couldn't be the funeral director. She was so…young. And pretty. Rachel couldn't help but notice how pretty the woman was. Her hair was jet black, and pulled into a bun, her brown eyes were penetrating, her lips pursed, almost as if she were irritated, her walk slow and sensual. She seemed to be deep in thought, but she moved swiftly to Rachel's side, and gave her a warm smile

"Hello," she said, and her voice was smoky and passionate. Rachel felt warm just being opposite her. "I'm Santana Lopez, the director of Charon River funeral parlor. You must be Rachel Berry."

Rachel nods. She waited for Santana to say that she was sorry for her loss, but she didn't. "I understand how difficult a time this can be," her voice sounds so polished and professional, that Rachel's not sure how to take it.

"We are here in regards to your husband?"

"Fiancé," Rachel corrects. They had both had powers of attorney drawn up a long time ago, for this very reason. Well not _this, _but in case one of them got badly injured, or a financial problem arose. They were practically married for six years, and yet, she'd never taken that walk with him.

"I wish to assure you that we will take the utmost care with him, and treat him with the dignity and respect he deserves." Rachel realizes that because she didn't say his name, Santana doesn't either, though she can see it clearly written on the page in her tablet. "Do you know why this parlor is called Charon River?"

Rachel shakes her head. "In Greek Mythology Charon was the ferryman who ferried the newly departed souls across the River Styx after they died. We," Santana indicates herself and Danita, "consider ourselves to be no more and no less than the ferrymen. How you send him on his journey, is your choice. I can make the process as effortless as possible for you, or you can be as involved as you need to be, but the important thing is that it is your choice. I understand how hard it can be to say good-bye, which is why we strive to make this easy."

Oddly, Rachel finds herself comforted, but she can't quite work out if it's because of this speech, which she's sure that she's made a thousand times, or if it's because of Santana herself. She likes the idea of him being ferried across the water to an unknown destination, because the idea that he doesn't exist anymore is just too much. Although Jewish, Rachel never saw herself as being religious. She participated in the High Holy Days, and celebrated Chanukah but like a Christian who only finds themselves in church on Christmas and Easter, Rachel otherwise didn't practice her faith. She didn't spend too much time wondering about souls. About where they go when they're no longer in the bodies that they have been occupying.

"So, let's get to work, shall we?"

There's a lot of things to work out, and Rachel wishes that she had brought someone along with her, Kurt maybe, but she had come alone because she had thought that maybe this was something that she needed to do by herself in order to help the mourning process. It's just that she didn't imagine that someone dying would mean that she'd have to pick out what outfit he should be buried in, what casket he should be buried in (cremation was an option that Rachel very seriously considered, but still that required a casket), what pillow his head should rest upon, what knobs should be on the outside.

After two trying hours, Santana rests a hand on top of hers, and oddly Rachel feels her heartbeat accelerate. "Why don't we take a break?" she suggests. It's not said kindly, in that tone that people adopt when talking to someone who has someone who recently died. It was said in the voice of someone who doesn't think that you'll argue with them. "Let's grab lunch. There's a nice little restaurant not too far from here."

Rachel agrees because she wasn't really given an option not to, but worries because what on Earth could she causally say to a funeral director? A person who routinely surrounded herself with death? They walk for a few blocks, Santana moving expertly in heels that once Rachel would have toppled over in. Broadway, being on stage, and expected to be putting on some kind of act at all times, had taught her how to walk convincingly in two or three inch heels but for this occasion she had worn flats, as she was prone to do whenever she wasn't on stage or making an appearance. She had no trouble keeping up with Santana, but is flat out amazed that Santana can keep up so well with her.

The restaurant Santana chooses is not a sit-down restaurant, more like something in-between fast foot and upscale. Rachel expects Santana to order something garishly healthy, based on her slim figure, so is surprised when Santana orders chick'n fingers and fries. Rachel orders a vegan mushroom and spinach wrap, a little taken aback by the number of vegan choices that are on the menu. "I read that you are vegan," Santana explains. "I wanted to make sure that you had plenty to choose from."

"So you know who I am?"

"Danita Googles all of our clients, just so we've got an idea of what we need to do to make things most comfortable, but I recognized you from a play that my ex-girlfriend made me go to once."

Santana doesn't seem likely to say any more about it, so Rachel prompts her, "What play?"

"_Phillip's Frost_."

"That was my junior play!" Rachel starts to smile, and realizes that that's probably not allowed.

"Like I said, I got dragged to it," she says in a matter-of-fact kind of way.

"Have you seen anything else I've been in?" Rachel's curious.

Santana, however, doesn't even pause. "No, just that." And then if this explains it all, "We broke up."

When they get their food, Santana seems to sample the chick'n and declares it passable. "Did you go to NYADA, also?"

"New School."

"For funeral sciences?" Rachel questions. She takes a bite. "Is that a thing?"

"I'm sure, somewhere. _Every_thing is a science now days, but no. I went to school for Architecture," Santana responds to Rachel's surprise. Why would an architect become a funeral director? Personally she wonders why _anyone_ would become a funeral director, for that matter, but she supposes someone has to do it. "I like design," Santana says, as if she can read Rachel's mind. Or maybe she is just so used to being asked that she anticipates the question. "Designing a building is like designing a homecoming."

"Homecoming?" Rachel questions curiously.

"That's how many of my clients like to think of death. As the souls returning home. I supposed that relies mostly on a belief in heaven."

"And um…do you believe in heaven?" He believed. He wasn't the go to church every Sunday kind of guy, but he mentioned Jesus every now and then, and God.

Santana's lips quirk, but she doesn't smile. "You would think that someone who surrounds themselves with death every day would have some sort of definite answer on that, but I don't know. There are many theories for life, and death, and states in-between. I believe in energy. That it is neither created nor destroyed, and energy has to go _somewhere. _I believe some energy is more reluctant than other energy, and who's to say, maybe there is a heaven, or maybe we all get reincarnated, or maybe we just stop?"

Santana seems to forget herself for the moment. "When I was a kid, once, I dreamed that when our bodies die, who we are doesn't, and we're still trapped in our bodies, and are fully aware of everything that happens to them, we just can't do anything, or say anything, to change it. I think I was eight when I had this dream, and it was the day after Dia de Muertos. You know the Day of the Dead?" Santana shutters. "Let's just say, not my favorite dream."

Santana looks back at Rachel as she fidgets in front of her. "Of course it was just a dream."

"I hope that's not what happens," Rachel mumbles.

Santana looks ashamed of herself. "I shouldn't have told you that. As you probably could tell, I'm not very good with this comforting thing."

On the contrary, Rachel wants to say, because as off as Santana is, she seems to have a comforting effect on Rachel. "Danita is so much better at this than I am, which is why she usually does the talking."

Rachel wants to tell her that she didn't upset her, but she can't, so she doesn't. "I've thought that before," is what she _does _say. "I hope that's not the case because that would just be too terrible to comprehend. I never think much about death before this. I've never had someone this close to me,"

Rachel pauses. Santana's mouth opens again. "Death is exact for me. It is the natural arc of life. Every truth has its opposing side. For every life, there must be a death. Death doesn't surprise me, it's the living that I don't understand."

Santana pays for the meal, and Rachel wonders if that's because the cost of it is already figured into the costs for the funeral. She realizes that she ate her whole wrap, and then feels immediately guilty for doing so afterwards because it's the first solid meal she's eaten since she got the news of his death. It feels like a silent betrayal. A bit of normalcy when she's supposed to be knee-deep in grief. It hits her, then, that he's really gone. That she'll never turn another corner and find him sitting there, with flowers in her hand, mums because he figured that since she never had one, it was time she started. They were going to name their first daughter Chrystal.

As they're walking back to the office, the dam breaks open, and Rachel breaks down, her body being taken over by aching sobs. It surprises Rachel that in the very middle of her very alone cry, there are suddenly a set of hands surrounding her, pulling her close. It throws her off because this is New York, and a man could be lying bleeding in the middle of the sidewalk, and everyone would just walk around them. It throws her off when she looks up, and sees brown eyes staring at her because Santana flat out doesn't seem like the type of person to hug somebody.

It surprises her because she needs this more than anything else. Because she's hurt, and scared, because she doesn't know how to write her world without him being in it refilling her pens. Because although Broadway was always her destination, he was always her motivation, and now she just doesn't know how to move forward when it was him that pushed her from behind. She cries because she feels the truth with every tear that she sheds. She's alone no, so miserably alone, and after being with someone for so long, she doesn't know how to not be with him.

And she cries because standing there, she realizes that for more than six years of her life, for their entire relationship, actually, she treated him as if he were little more to her than a personal assistant she took to bed. It pains her because she can't remember the last time she said 'I love you' to him, without him saying it to her first. It hurts her because she used up every ounce of what he gave, telling herself that once she made it, she'd give it all back, but now he was gone and she never even got the chance to repay him.

Santana just let's her cry against her, and even when it starts to rain, the woman just keeps holding her, until Rachel can once again hold herself.

* * *

_Lima, Ohio, June 2012: Graduation Day._

_Rachel Berry couldn't get her dads to stop fusing over her. It was a big day for their baby girl, and they knew she was anxious about it, which in turn made them anxious, and it turned them into mother hens. They bombarded Rachel with questions, and it was such a pre-performance routine and they were so good at it, that it was nearly unclear of whom was asking what. "Did you memorize your speech?"_

_"Yes, dad!"_

_"Did you recite it three times, just to make sure you had it locked down?"_

_"Yes, papa!"_

_"Did your do your early morning throat exercises."_

_"Yes, dad!"_

_"Is your phone properly charged?" This was asked because Rachel was going partying later on tonight, and they wanted to be sure that they could get in touch with her if the case arose. They were still leery of teenaged parties, even though their daughter was now 18 and was graduating from high school that very day. Both Leroi and Hiram recognized that they may have been a smidgen over protective, but Rachel was their little miracle, and also their only child._

_"Yes, papa!"_

_Her papa, Leroi, placed a tender hand on her cheek. "We love you so much, Rachel, and you have made us so proud!"_

_Rachel's eyes got teary, and they group hugged it out, because that's what the Berry's typically did. Rachel loved her family, and even though it wasn't the conventional definition of 'normal', she wouldn't have traded her family for any other. _

_Their Berry Jam was interrupted when there was a knock on the front door, and Rachel eagerly wiggled her way out of her parents' embrace to answer the door for her boyfriend. Finn greeted her with his typical lopsided smile, giving her a hug that lasted a full minute, and lifted Rachel off the ground. Finn was a whole foot taller than she was, something that was always present and they seemed to be constantly working around. Carol, his mom, joked that Finn came out of the womb already two feet tall._

_When Finn did finally let her go, she stepped back to look him over. Today, instead of his typical jeans and American Eagle rugby shirt, he was wearing a red dress shirt, a clashing red and white striped tie, and gray slacks. His hair was its usual half combed mess that you would never guess actually took forty-five minutes in order to get perfect. He looked so adorable, and perfect, and not for the first time Rachel marveled that this guy was actually hers._

_"Hey babe," he said, placing her back on her feet. "You look great."_

_Rachel was glad he noticed the extra work she had put in this morning because a lot of the time he didn't. Rachel's general fashion sense was let's say lacking. Too often it looked like she dressed in the kids department, because a lot of the time she did. Well, not kids, but pre-teens. She tried for the older looking of the kids clothes, and it might not have always been a success; when you were barely 5'3 your closing options were limited._

_But today she had taken her good friend, Kurt's advice, and finally allowed him to make her over for the occasion. Not only was she giving one of the graduation speeches, she had also volunteered, along with her Glee Club, to sing Vitamin C's _Graduation_ at the commencement ceremony. She was going to be highly visible, today, and she wanted to look good. End her high school career with a bang._

_Whenever Rachel thought of how she was ending her high school career, as opposed to how she started, she couldn't help but be impressed with just how far she had come. She had started her school career on the bottom. Freshman year, instead of going to parties and hanging out with friends, she had dedicatedly posted Myspace videos of her singing every Friday night for her audience of three (her, and her dads), and had joined every single club the school had to offer. Joining clubs didn't come with making friends, and she wasn't good at it. For most of freshman year she remained obscure and mostly friendless. 'Mostly' because she _did _have a friend, Tina, an Asian Goth/Steampunk girl, but she was still in middle school, and they hardly got time to hang out. Too, there was the obviously gay, and incredibly well-dressed Kurt Hummel, who she was friendly with, but who wasn't actually a friend. Although they were both outcasts who shared some of the same interests, including singing and theatre, there wasn't much capital in having the other as a friend since they were both losers, so they weren't friends._

_So Rachel had silently suffered through her freshman year of high school, but things started to change for her in big ways sophomore year. Mr. Schuester replaced Mr. Ryerson as the director of the Glee Club, and the club suddenly had the potential to actually be something instead of the hunting ground for the perv Ryerson. Tina was now at McKinley, too, and she now had something other than posting Myspace videos to do on Friday night because Tina was dating Mike Chang, a wide right on the football team, and Tina insisted that she come to the games. Tina was soon inviting Rachel to the jock parties, but instead of bringing Rachel popularity, she ended up on the popular kids' radar, somewhere she hadn't previously been before. Within a week of attending a team party, she got her first face full of cherry slushie._

_Her sophomore year might have ended even worse than it started, if she and Kurt hadn't actually struck up a friendship, and his dad, Burt, hadn't married Carole, because it was then that Rachel met the current quarterback for the Titans and the star of the football team, Finn Hudson. Although he would never be accused of being the most brilliant man in the world, apparently she and Finn had enough in common for Finn to keep finding reasons to talk to her. Rachel, who had never before been on the positive end of (romantic) male affection, and who craved the idea of a leading man, fell almost desperately in love with Finn after the first time she heard him sing._

_Things had only improved from there on, and she was ending her high school career the opposite of how she had started it: on top. She had a solid group of friends, she was, if not well liked, well known, she was on her way to NYADA in New York, where being smart, and talented, wouldn't earn you a slushie in the face, but a Tony and endorsement deals, and she had a handsome and doting boyfriend who loved her, and she knew someday she'd marry. And while these things didn't necessarily make her life perfect, they didn't hurt things, either._

_"Can you believe we're finally here, Finn?" Rachel questioned. "We're finally graduating, and in only two months I'll be in New York!"_

_Finn got a sort of sad puppy look, because Finn wasn't going to be in New York with her. Finn was heading to Columbus, Ohio, on a football scholarship, and was going to be a Buckeye in the fall. They had talked this over, several times, had decided together that Finn should go to Columbus, and that Rachel should go to New York. Finn would get a practical degree in a field that was easy enough for him to maintain a C average, but challenging enough so that Finn could get a nice middle wage job that would be able to support the both of them until Rachel made it on Broadway._

_"I love you, Rach," Finn said almost impulsively._

_Rachel smiled, because she loved it when he said that, especially without prompting. "I love you, too."_

_Graduation went off without a hitch. The Glee club and band completely rocked _Graduation_, and her singing of the solo was just flawless. She, and the rest of the glee seniors then hurried off to change into their caps and gowns, and integrate back into their seats. After Mike Chang's very practical speech about setting a plan for life, and diligently following through on that, of being realistically focused on obtainable goals, (he was going to school to eventually become a doctor), Rachel followed with her speech about being bold enough to follow through on your dreams. She thought it made a nice counterpoint to Mike's speech._

_During dinner with the family-she, Finn, her dads, Burt, Carole, Kurt, and his boyfriend Blaine-Finn seemed so anxious that Rachel wondered if today was the day that he was going to make it official and propose, especially since his hand kept nervously darting to his pocket. But he didn't, and part of Rachel was glad, but the other part wondered why, when they talked about it so frequently and she knew that there was no one else she was ever going to love as much as Finn. In her head she was already Rachel Hudson. (She thought it would sound better on the posters)._

_They said good-bye to their parents at the restaurant, and went to change for the celebration party at Finn's best friend, Noah's house, who still insisted on hosting the party even though he didn't have enough credits to actually graduate. Kurt branched off as soon as they were inside, but Finn led her to the kitchen, grabbed each of them a red Solo cup, and pulled her onto the dance floor. Finn loved to dance even though he was so incredibly horrible at it, and Rachel did too, though she was more classically trained. The two of them dancing to pop tunes looked so incredibly odd, that it kind of fit. She loved that Finn didn't mind being awkward, and more importantly being awkward with her. As he spun her around, and attempted to execute moves that were far too complicated for his hulking form, Rachel had the passing thought that she had never been happier before in her entire life. That this, second only to the applause of an audience, was the greatest feeling in the world._

* * *

"I don't know how I'm going to do this," Rachel whispered, as she disentangled herself from Santana's embrace. Later she'll be embarrassed that she cried in front of a stranger, but for now, she's just so incredibly sad. She starts crying again, and doesn't notice. Every time she thinks that she's managed to find herself a little peace with the situation, she remembers the reason she's so upset in the first place, and her heart breaks all over again.

"It's like I'm walking through a nightmare," she realized. "I keep telling myself it's not true, that it was some other poor guy; that the coroner somehow made some terrible, terrible, mistake and that I'll get the call that says that he's really just in the hospital somewhere. He was only 26! 26 year-olds don't just fall over and die!" That was an oversimplification. He hadn't just fallen over and died. He had hit his head. Coming off the subway, someone had bumped into him on his way up the stairs to the exit, causing him to trip and hit his head on the stairs. It wasn't enough to kill a normal person, even an old person would have just come away from it with a broken hip or something.

But when the man helping him up tried talking to him, he didn't seem to be able to focus, he couldn't' seem to be able to tell him his name, or knew where he was. He fell to his knees and couldn't get back up. An ambulance was called, it got there, they stabilized him, sent him on his way, crisis averted, only he died in the entrance of the ambulance dock. Although Finn was only 26, after years of playing football, and having his head knocked around, he had the brain of a much older individual, and that one fall, had been the one too many. Unknown to him, and the people who loved him, all these years, Finn had been a ticking time bomb.

"We were just picking out new sheets for our bed, so how can it be true that I'm picking out coffin lining and the clothes he's going to be buried in? My first show, the first time I'm going to star on Broadway, is in three weeks! That's my dream! This is what I've wanted since I was old enough to even imagine the future, and there has to be a law on losing the one you love when your dreams are about to come true. We were supposed to have forever. We were supposed to have kids, and the suburbs, and time. We were supposed to have time! But he's gone." Rachel gasped. "He's gone, and I don't know what I'm going to do without him."

Rachel bows her head, and Santana places a hand on her shoulder. After two minutes of silence, Santana tells her that she would like to take Rachel somewhere if it's okay with her. Grimly Rachel thinks we're going on _a death field trip _which makes her recite Emily Dickson's "Because I could not stop for death" in her head as they walk back to the funeral parlor. Santana has Rachel wait in the reception room, while she does something in the back office, and then she tells Rachel to follow her to her car. "I've never found a better healer than time," Santana says as she drives away from _Charon River_. Rachel is too lost in her own thoughts to pay attention to where they are going. "I don't know much about how people grieve. I spend 3 days to a week with the people that were left behind. The people I meet are usually in the throes of their loss, at varying stages of the five stages of grief. But I only see them for 3 to 7 days. I'll get the occasional 'Thank you for your help in our time of need' card, but other than that, we meet, we take care of business, and then they leave with no other words spoken. The mortician doesn't usually get cards at Christmas.

"So I don't know how long it takes, what's average, or norm, or anything like that. I know time, helps, and sometimes this does, too."

Rachel isn't paying enough attention to take in what Santana says. She stares blankly out the window, only registering that the part of the city she knows and loves seems to have left them behind. When Santana stops her car, it is in a place that looks like it might have been an old basketball court. No, not basketball. It's an abandoned racket ball court, outside of a building that has seen better days.

"Why are we here?" Rachel questions, aware enough to realize that this might not be the best place for them to be. But Santana doesn't seemed worried, so she doesn't either. Santana doesn't answer right away. Instead she instructs Rachel to get out of the car, and she pops the trunk, and pulls out a large box. For a fleeting second, Rachel wonders if Finn's body is inside, until she remembers that the hospital hasn't surrendered custody of the body yet, and Finn's still at the morgue of St. Luke's.

Santana sits the box on the ground, and opens it. Curiosity causes Rachel to lean her head over to see what's inside. She's confused when she seems to be staring down at a box of assorted dishware that despite the pretty designs they must have once had, were too battered and tawdry to be considered china. What was this supposed to be? She hopes not a gift.

Rachel looks at Santana, who was looking far too calm in contrast to Rachel, whose look was for more hysterical, but really what did she expect from a woman who spent her life around the dead?

"The University of Virginia conducted this experiment with a group of people who were clinically depressed. They took a bunch of old things that were no longer in use, and told the patients that they could do as much damage to them as they'd like. Every day the patients would spend an hour breaking old office equipment. Computer screens, TVS, cabinets and chairs. Within a week, scientist saw a change in their behavior. This experiment was then repeated at three companies that were notorious for having dissatisfied employees. Every shift they worked, they were given two five minute breaks where they were allowed to break dishes. After a month, the employees' attitudes about their job and life in general changed.

"The study concluded that we are wound up so tightly, that breaking things releases the unexercised energy burdening us with undue stress."

Santana shrugs. "Sounds fruity, but hey, if science says it, it must be true. I got these from the thrift shop, and I brought you to a place where you can scream, and break things until your heart's content." Her left shoulder lifted. "Maybe it helps?"

Rachel doesn't imagine that it could. Skeptically she picks up a plate, eying it. It is actually kind of pretty. A pearl color with gold trim, and a white lace pattern. There had been one time, a few years back, when Rachel had decided that she needed to make some serious steps toward the chupah. She actually vested a whole day of her life into looking at wedding invitations and China patterns. This looked like maybe something she would have picked out for her and Finn's pattern.

She doesn't so much as throw it, as the plate seems to fall from her hands. Her eyes zero in on the object as soon as she realizes that it has slipped, and she watches the delicate glass fall to the hard concrete and break into six big pieces and several dozen smaller ones. She hadn't even realized that she was letting go. _He's gone_, she thought absently. _He's gone, and just like this plate, I'll never be whole again. _She wipes away two tears and reaches in the box for another plate. This one was just as pretty, though it has a blue spider-web like pattern on the edges. _He's never coming back_. This one is half thrown, and half falls from her hand, the result being that it landed about 20 feet short of the wall she hadn't been aiming for.

He'd tried to show her how to throw. First a baseball, because it was baseball season, then a football because it wasn't. She hadn't had luck with either. Rachel had absolutely no athleticism at all.

The next item-this one a gray and crème teacup-at the sound of it hitting the wall and shattering into so many pieces that no one could ever hope to make it whole again, a sound that was something partway between a choked sob, and a happy peal of laugher escapes her mouth. Instantly her hand shoots up to cover her mouth, as if to draw the sound back in, but it's already escaped.

"He would have been a great dad." She could just imagine their son or daughter being taught how to play catch. Two things, a saucer and a bowl, meet their end. "He was so caring, and patient. _So_ patient." He had been willing to give everything up for the two of them, and Rachel had been ready to let him.

"You promised!" she screams suddenly. "You promised you'd never leave me!" He'd made that promise several times. The first, the most important one, was when she realized that in high school world she was a nobody, and she was dating star quarterback Finn Hudson.

* * *

_Rachel stormed away from Finn, distancing herself from him, and the rest of the people at the party. Finn's legs are longer, though, and he easily keeps up. "Wait Rach! Wait!"_

_Rachel spins on her heels. "Just go away, Finn!"_

_"Please, just tell me what I did wrong!" Finn pleaded, holding on to her arm so she wouldn't continue to walk away._

_"It's not what you did wrong, it's what you're going to do. I'm not Stacy Flanders. I'm not Lori Vanderstaf! I'm not one of the cheerleaders, or teen royalty. I'm just me, Finn!"_

_He gave _that _smile followed by, "I know you're just you, Rach; that's what I like!"_

_"You can have any girl at this school, why be with me? I'm not even pretty!"_

_The smile was gone now as a frown took over. "What are you talking about, Rach? You're beautiful. I don't care about Stacy or Lori; all I care about is you. I love you, and I'm never going to want some one else. I only want to be with you. I'm not going anywhere. I'm _never _going anywhere. I promise."_

* * *

The sound of breaking glass comes more frequently. Rachel can't seem to throw fast enough. "You promised," she screams. Rachel can't hardly see for the tears that fall down her face. She throws, and throws, and throws until her arm hurts, and she realizes that she was reaching into a box that is now just as empty as she feels, the things that had once filled it broken and shattered into so many pieces that they could never hope to be full again.

"He was my best friend," Rachel chokes out, still trying to regain her breath. Not once while she was shattering the plates did she think about the person that was standing just a few feet away from her, watching, yet as soon as her rage disappears, she is once again aware of her surroundings. She wonders if the woman, Santana, thinks that she's a lunatic. Rachel wonders why she should care. She was Rachel Berry, about to be a Broadway star, and this was a woman who was steeped in death, and whom she wouldn't see again after 3 to 7 days.

Rachel sinks to the ground. After a moment, Santana joins her. Rachel isn't sure how long the two sit there, but when Santana starts to shift Rachel is back to the present. She watches Santana stand up and offer a hand to help get Rachel back on her feet. She then pulls out a set of gloves from her pocket, and slips them on before she picks up the box. "What are you doing?" Rachel questions.

Santana starts to pick up the pieces of glass. "I don't want someone to come out here and get hurt by any of these broken pieces," Santana patiently explained. "I've got a friend who likes for me to bring them back to her."

"Why?" Rachel questions. "They're all ruined now. The china will never be the same as it was when it was whole." Rachel isn't just talking about the dishware. She was broken. Time might be able to heal this feeling of grief that she was feeling right now, but absolutely nothing was going to bring him back, and without him, she was never going to feel whole again.

"No," Santana agrees. "But she likes to make mosaics out of the broken pieces that get left behind. She insists that they can be transformed into something even better than the original."

Rachel instantly understands why Santana has brought her out here, and that she isn't talking about the dishes either. Rachel couldn't help but be curious about this woman who surrounded herself with death. When she turns back to look at her, Santana is holding out another pair of gloves, patiently waiting for Rachel to take them. Rachel does. Slipping them on her hands, she begins to help her clear up the mess until the only thing that is left are the pieces of glass that are small enough for the wind to carry away.


End file.
